


An awkward interlude on Monkey Island

by Three_Headed_Monkey



Category: Monkey Island
Genre: Gen, Pirates, Silly, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:44:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Three_Headed_Monkey/pseuds/Three_Headed_Monkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guybrush tried to impress his mother-in-law. Zombie chickens ensued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An awkward interlude on Monkey Island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syr/gifts).



“Plunder Bunny?”  
“Hm-?”  
There was a loud boom, and the cracking of wood.  
“Do you have a plan?”  
“Hm.”  
Another volley of cannon fire. Well, they didn’t call that woman Mad Martha for nothing. That woman being his mother in law. Who was presently firing cannon at the little deserted village where she knew he was. Maybe it what they said about first impressions was true.  
“You know...you said you always have a plan? Because this would be a really good time to have a plan.”  
“Hmm.”  
The little shack shuddered violently. Guybrush couldn’t help but admire the cannibals’ construction skills.  
 _“Hmmm.”_

 

Elaine had that cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows. Guybrush stared deep into her eyes, which were as fathomless as the briny sea and as large as the open skies (Wow, he thought, must remember that one). He felt a surge of love for this amazing woman, and was sure that she felt the same. Then she kicked him in the shin.

 

“Cuddle Monkey, are you mad at me?”  
“Rahasgh.Hmphyt. Arrrrrgh!”  
“Oh, sorry.”  
He rifled through his pockets until he found the Suggestive Letter Opener, and used it to cut Elaine’s gag. She gave him a look that indicated that there would be Big Trouble later on. But right now she was willing to overlook it, as they were locked inside a hut. On Monkey Island. Having cannon fired at them from a new fortification. Which was peopled by many of those he’d annoyed, robbed or cheated over the past few years, and his mother-in-law, the notorious Mad Martha Marley. Not only that, there were the zombie chickens to deal with.  
“So,” she said, “How are we going to get out of this mess?”  
“Um-”  
“That was a rhetorical question, sweetie.”  
She was still annoyed. Guybrush looked around helplessly. All he’d wanted to do was take Elaine on a nice trip. That wasn’t a crime, was it?  
“Guybrush.”  
And impress his mother-in-law. She’d not been impressed when she met the man her daughter had sacrificed her “Burgeoning political career” for. He’d prayed that LeChuck would once again stomp through the revolving door between the mortal realm and the the land of the dead and attack them during the fish course. That had not happened. This had happened, which was much worse.  
 _“Guybrush.”_  
This being making the innocent suggestion that they should visit that place of wonder and infinite bananas, Monkey Island.

He began to rifle through his pockets. He always did that during times of stress. He made a quick inventory:  
lemon scented gunpowder  
Boston Low-approved shovel (“It works in zero-g!”)  
Green dye  
Suggestive Letter Opener (“It’s got a nob on the end!”)  
 _Red Flags: Things to avoid when meeting your In-Laws_ by Arnold Brownpants (Due 15th June)  
Rabbit Mask  
Pot of sheep grease  
42 pieces of eight  
Bottle of fine brandy

“Guybrush. _My hands are still tied._ ”  
He grabbed the Suggestive Letter Opener and released her. She arched an eyebrow and turned away from him. There wasn’t far to turn, as the hut was small, but from the tension in her shoulders indicated that he was not off the hook yet. She began knocking on the floor. There had been a secret passage in here somewhere. Maybe the cannibals had got tired of the banquet course escaping, all protestations about trans-fats aside.

“Poodle?”  
No reply.  
He sighed, and leaned back against the wall. There was a click, and a piece of panelling slid open.  
“A-hah!” Elaine was triumphant. Guybrush was lying on his back in the mud.  
“You’re a wonderful man,” she said, stepping over him. He sat up and gazed wistfully at her retreating back. Then he scrambled to his feet and followed her.  
No stars shone on their desperate endeavour. Even the moon hid her face from their plight. They were cursed! CURSED!  
“Guybrush. For heaven’s sake, stop being dramatic.”  
Had he been saying that out loud?

They crept through the jungle, towards the fort. Guybrush wasn’t all that familiar with this part of the island. He’d spent most of his time on the other side of the mountains. In fact, he hadn’t been back in years. The cannibals had left; Toothroot (or whoever he really was) had left. The monkeys had appeared all over the other islands with apparently no drop in numbers here. This was not the Monkey Island he remembered. But then, he wasn’t the same man that had crashed headfirst into its warm sands all those years ago. He had a beard, for one thing. And a wife. A beautiful wife. A beautiful, intelligent wife. With strong thighs. Who had stopped and was holding upa hand. He stopped, confused.

 

“Wha-”  
She spun around and clapped a hand over his mouth.  
And there it was. Just under the noise of the cannon fire, he could hear it.  
 _“Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk. Awk. Brrrrrk.”_

 

“Do you still have the shovel?” Elaine whispered.  
“Mhm.”  
“Then guard my back. I can guide us to the fort.”  
Why were they going to the fort? It was filled with people who wanted him dead! And some other pirates!  
 _“Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk. Awk. Brrrrrk.”_  
It was either murderous pirates or zombie chickens. Muderous pirates could be dispatched with in humorous and counter-intuitive ways. Zombie chickens were probably harder to shift. It sounded like Elaine had a plan. Which seemed to work out better than his plans, if indeed Guybrush Threepwood could have been said to plan anything. To the fort it was, then.

 

She took her hand away and began moving forward. Guybrush pulled out the shovel. The dense jungle had shielded them thus far, but as they moved on the dense vegetation gave way to rock. The roar of the cannons was starting to drown out the crooning of the flock of zombie chickens, deep in the forest. Voodoo, thought Guybrush, had a lot to answer for. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement among the rocks. Feathers, said his mind. Feathers, tacky with the blood of the unwary. He turned, pressing his back to Elaine’s. It was tricky, trying to keep his balance on the rocks underfoot and keeping his eye on the little shadow creeping closer. But his life, and the life of his Darling Plunder Poodle were at stake. He probably wasn’t going to fail.

The cannons had stopped firing, so the zombie chickens’ monotone squawks were more audible. Their particular little friend was hopping over the rocks towards them, more quickly than anything made of bones and feathers should have been able to. Guybrush swallowed, and left Elaine. If he hit it now, then that would buy them time to get up the mountain without worrying. He moved towards it, shovel raised.

 

The foul fowl looked at him. He looked at it. Then he used the shovel on the zombie chicken.

 **Writer’s note: This chicken is dead. It is definitely not sleeping. But it was dead already, so don’t feel too sorry for it. Some animals were harmed in the making of this fic. But, as mentioned, they were dead already.**

 

He managed to squash half of it. It lifted its head and utter a bone rattling squawk before Guybrush used the shovel on it again. Then, as he was wont to do with disgusting things, picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket. At least it wasn’t porcelain. He went back to where Elaine was standing, and they continued to make their way upwards.

 

The entry to the fort was a small hole, guarded by a large, bald man with a chest tattoo...great. Chuck Meathead. Or Larry Hookbritches. Or something. It didn’t seem like he’d be happy to see Guybrush, anyway.

 

“We can’t just walk in,” he whispered to Elaine. “I know that man. He hates me.”  
“We need some sort of disguise,” Elaine whispered back. “And why do you smell like a midden?”  
Guybrush stared into space for a while, then pulled out the rabbit mask.  
“Put this on. Pretend you’ve taken me prisoner.”  
She rolled her eyes.  
“Guybrush, nobody is that stupid.”

But apparently he was. Hook Meatface ,or whatever he was called, waved them through. Though he did give Guybrush a nasty look, which was quite hurtful.

 

The tunnel into the fort was carved out of the rock of the mountain. Torches in the walls gave little light. They moved through the tunnels quietly, until they reached a fork. Elaine turned to Guybrush.

 

“Look, I’ll go and find Mother and explain everything. You find a way to stop the zombie chickens. Do you have the voodoo recipe?”  
“Yup.”  
“Alright. I’ll see you.”  
“Okay. And I’m sorry, Elaine.”.

“Why?”  
“I’m sorry I took you and your mother to Monkey Island and unwittingly released a plague of zombie chickens and then took you down to the Cannibal Village and got you stuck in the hut and I’m sorry your Mother hates me-”

 

“Oh Guybrush,” Elaine stroked his cheek, “Mummy hasn’t got to know you, that’s all.”  
“Do you have a plan?”  
She smiled.  
“Of course, Silly.”  
And then she was gone.

Some time later, he’d made it to the fortress battlements. He’d managed to steal some matches from a sleeping guard, trade his pieces of eight for some root beer, dye his hair green as a disguise, get Otis’ laundry from the laundress by telling her his scented gunpowder was a new kind of soap flakes, use one of Otis’ dirty socks to incapacitate a the pirate guarding the actual gunpowder store, steal his clothes(and gunpowder, which more often than not, came in handy) , wander into the mess and pick up the key that led into the kitchens and then realise that the Voodoo Recipe was now illegible, having had sheep grease, green dye and zombie chicken juice leaking all over it for the past few hours. He thought for a bit, and poked around to see if there was anything else he could _borrow_. There wasn’t. So he’d have to work from memory. He’d never had a problem with that before.

 

He decided to use the gunpowder, the grain and the carcass of the zombie chicken to make some exploding zombie chicken feed. If you couldn’t destroy ‘em by magic it was the next best thing to make ‘em explode. He just had to get up the to the top of the battlements and sprinkle the feed on the encroaching chickens. The blood would make them eat it, and then all he had to do was set them on fire...

 

He explained this to a patient Elaine some moments later. She’d been waiting on the battlements for him, either having made her own plans or guessed his. He was happy to see her, of course, but he noticed she very quiet on the subject of her Mother. In fact, she didn’t mention her mother at all. Guybrush was the sort of person who would go skinny dipping in shark infested waters (as long as he had a comedy rubber doll and a bottle of ketchup) but knew instinctively that this silence was for the best.  
And he’d tried so hard.

Luckily, he was distracted by the return of more people who hated him. Pirates who hated him. Pirates who had been fooled by his cunning disguise. Pirates who he’d just got to leave the battlements.

 

Elaine drew her sword.  
“Hey! There isn’t any free grog!”  
And now they had more reason to be angry at him. Strictly speaking, grog was a sacred subject among pirates, and he really shouldn’t have used it as a distraction. Strictly speaking, however, a zombie chicken infestation was not something the average pirate had to deal with. And mothers-in-law, he reminded himself. Most pirates tended to shun the state of holy matrimony.

“Guybrush, where are the others?” Elaine was tensing, getting ready. Behind them, on the mountainside, the infernal flock crooned and chattered.  
“ I covered all the other stairs in sheep’s grease.”  
“Nice work, Sweetheart.”  
“Thanks.”  
The first pirate came towards Elaine, swinging his sword. She rolled her eyes, and bought the flat of her blade down across his head. He staggered, and then fell off the battlements. Guybrush winced.

“Eaten by zombie chickens. What a fowl way to go.”  
“Speaking of which, darling-”  
She’d obviously missed his little joke. Never mind. He’d explain it to her later. Lesser men, when confronted with a horde of angry pirates and zombie chickens, may have quibbled about there being a ‘later’. But after escaping a volcano, being buried alive, and being punched in the face by an angry demon/ghost/zombie _more than once_ , Guybrush thought he could risk optimism.

And besides, you couldn't die in a Lucas Arts game.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the brilliant Morbane for betaing. Apologies for the rampant silliness of the thing and all the Lucas Arts references.


End file.
